


The Lovers: Terra Incognita

by Jean Genie (Su_Abeille)



Series: The Lovers [1]
Category: Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: AU Post Season 2, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Consensual Kink, Demons, Dominance, Ethanessa, Eventual Smut, Eventually mature sexual encounters, F/M, FIx It, Fluff, Gothic, Gothic Romance, Horror, Initially PG 13 rated sexual encounters, Post Season 2, Post Season 2 Fix It, Power Dynamics, Romance, Season 3 AU, Season 3 Redo, Season 3 RetCon, Season 3 rewrite, Slow Burn, Smut, Submission, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Victorian erotica, Werewolf Kink, Werewolves, Witches, slight age play, victorian romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-04-23 13:24:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4878520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Su_Abeille/pseuds/Jean%20Genie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With patience, tenderness, courage and openness, Ethan and Vanessa start the slow dance across the darkness to find a way to the other.  This is Gothic romance, full of shadows and light.</p><p>Now that the finale has aired this has been re-branded as a Season 3 AU/Rewrite</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This series sets up The Lovers AU. There is a prequel to this series called [Sleeping Beauty](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5359436) as well as a sequel called [Wedding.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6628774/chapters/15168202) There are also two short stories set in the universe called [Diamonds and Pearls](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6628774/chapters/15951589) and [Watching a Beauty Woman Laugh,](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6899806) followed by a two part story called [Grief.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7362892) The series ends with [Grandpa.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7332376)

There was a distance. She had insisted upon it between them. They were both passionate, easily driven to extremes. They both had unpredictable creatures that lived barely contained within each of them. These creatures, stirred to life as they were by intense emotions frightened both of them. They had both experienced the terrifying after effects of what happened when she allowed her passion free reign and they both knew of the unstoppable violence he was capable when his body was under the control of the beast inside him.

Yet what of that terrible climax of her possession. The blood and the violence, and her begging him to kill her to end her suffering. His hand, his voice and his will had fought the demon in her and broke its hold on her. There was something in him that was able to wrench her from the Devil's grasp.

And what of that night in the house of horrors that was the witches castle. Her in front of him, scared, yet absolutely still, exposing her neck to him in an unconscious act of submission. His beast’s ferocious nature, in that moment, subdued, recognizing her scent, knowing that it was her and all want for violence leaving him. There was something in her that was strong enough to stay him in that seemingly uncontrollable state. The beast within responded to her in a way that it never had to anything before.

It was true that they were dangerous creatures. But their ferociousness was perfectly matched. They each had the strength in themselves to meet the other’s darkness.

They had been always restrained around one another. He had watched her turn from his comfort, wrapping her arms around herself, believing that this was how it was supposed to be, so he had always been reticent when they were together. There were times, though, when guards would be dropped, when the easiness of their discourse relaxed them both. They each enjoyed the lightness of these moments, and instead of fearing the overwhelming passion, they would move freely without the burden of their darker sides.

Ethan recognized all of this for what it was. He knew that within himself he felt a deep love for her unlike any he had felt before. He knew from the beginning that this was a match worthy of him. She was formidable, in beauty, bravery, intelligence, wit and strength. His admiration for her turned into love so easily that he hardly noticed. When he had realized it it had been too late, and during their time apart, he had thought of her almost every moment. Now that he had the chance to be with her again, it galvanized him in a way that nothing else had before. This distance between them had to be passed. They would have to venture into this uncharted territory, this terra incognita, and find not danger but the safety that only love can give you.

Watching her as he always did, he noticed how she responded to him in these moments of ease between them, when her almost impenetrable guard was down. The key to her, to the heart of her feelings for him, was in how she smiled at him.

From that first meeting, he had wanted to see her smile. He had a special affection for the mischievous smirk she gave him sometimes, usually when she was about to tease him. Then the shy smile when he had said something to her so kind and full of admiration that her vulnerable heart, deeply hidden, showed in her face for a moment, cheeks reddened and eyes quickly averted. Of course the mirth filled grin, accompanied on the very rare occasion by a laugh. That laugh echoed warmly in him, the sight of her dancing eyes and a smile so unguarded, drawn out patiently by him. Of course the sly grin, accompanied with a quirk of an eyebrow, as she tested the strength of his gentlemanly honour. She was seeing how much pressure he could take. He knew she was doing it to to have a taste of what she believed they could never have. Trying to sup a bit of that pleasure, to see how far into that realm they could step. So she grinned at him and he stayed very still and let her dance about him in this tease.

He knew that this was his way through the distance to her. Her emotions for him were passionate, but there was a tenderness there too. No one has taken my hand so sweetly in many years, she had said to him while she was a wretched thing crippled by darkness. His heart broke to think of that, of those men that had fucked her but not loved her, of the cruelty of the doctors and nurses in the asylum doing inhumane things to her in the name of medicine. Who was the last person to touch her with a gentle hand, he wondered. Had there ever been anyone who had touched her as one in love does? As he did now?

She believed that passion and gentleness could not coincide, especially when it came to love. She thought, based on the dismissive cruelty that had been bestowed on her her whole adult life, that it was impossible to express intense, overwhelming emotions in any way but with an act of sin. She believed herself to be such a sinner that there was no tenderness in the world that she was deserving of.

During their time apart she had thought of these moments of gentle ease that had happened between them. Never had she been this way with another. The sweetness of these exchanges crept into her very soul and caused an odd pain, like the ache she would get when seeing something rare and beautiful. Being as she was as fascinated by such things her whole life, she was enthralled with this. When they had reunited, she sought it out, unsure of what it was or why it happened, even how it happened. Unknown to her, he facilitated these calm moments, slowly drawing her across the unknown land towards him.

He tried to put her physically at ease by always allowing her to have the power in their exchanges. He submitted to her in stance, often in the evenings when they were be in the parlour together he sat on the floor next to her as she sat on the couch, the wolf at her feet. He started asking her questions about her life, her childhood, her family. He knew the dark parts of her life, so instead he asked of what interested her now, the fancies she’d taken to, what things piqued her interest. She was capable of great empathy, caring for others in a completely unselfish way. There was her wit, the gentle teasing through which she bestowed her affection and lightened the mood of those around her. Her strength and courage, her refusal to give up despite insurmountable odds. Her loyalty, her unwavering need to make right what she herself had destroyed. In long conversations fireside, walking through the streets of London, sitting at the dinner table, she had told him of these things and in turn discovered them within, recognized these as the goodness within her. His interest in her, his desire to connect with her, had helped open these doors to herself.

It was in these times that he found the best about himself as well. Regaling her with stories of his youth, of his time out West, of all the hard learned lessons that only living off the land could teach you, he proved to her and to himself his strength, wisdom and own hard fight for nobility, as well as his his own weaknesses. She saw a little boy struggling for the affirmation of a withholding father. She saw a young man wanting to do good in a fundamental way. She saw him scared and traumatized, much like she had been. In this mutual place of struggle, she finally began to feel like she was understood.

 

 ____

 

They had to always move slowly. He didn’t approach first, rather became very still to allow her to not feel scared. His control stayed him completely as she would reach out tentatively. At first there was a hand placed on his own, ever so softly and just for a moment, before she saw that it had done so on its own volition seemingly and snatched it back with a dart of fear. Each time, though, the hand was there longer, the touch lingered. Eventually one night he slowly, ever so slowly, turned his palm up and held her small hand in his. She watched warily while he did this but did not pull away. They were safe in this easy conversation, there was no overwhelming dangerous passion here. A few nights later she had to satisfy her curiosity and reached out to slowly run her fingers along his shorn head, finding the close clipped hair soft like a fur, mesmerizing her into stroking over and over. He sat perfectly still, so aware of the trust in this act. Slowly the touch of her fingers in this soft petting started to relax him, soothe him. His eyes closed and he concentrated on only that. She watched as he submitted to her gentle touch completely and felt that ache within her bloom, spread like warmth across her body. It wasn’t the overwhelming sensation of that dangerous passion, it was something completely different from that. It was affection, tender and loving.

From this they moved forward, her taking his arm as they walked, her head gently resting against his arm when they stopped to look at the view. He caressed her cheek as he stood before her at her bedroom door bidding her good night, then pressed his lips to her brow like a blessing. She began to recognize something in the warmth and affection, something she hadn’t known in a very long time. It was safety.

Could physical intimacy exist in this place though, she wondered. She still yearned for him. She sat across the dinner table from him, studying his face as he spoke. The crinkles by his eyes when he smiled. His dancing eyes while he entertained her with his bravado. The exact shape of his mouth. How she longed to kiss him. Her gaze danced from his eyes to his lips, a slight unconscious smile on her face as she basked in this want. But this land was unknown to her and she had no idea how to proceed.

He, however, had been watching. He had seen her eyes coming to rest on his mouth, seen the need in her gestures, seen her little pink tongue darting out to wet her lips as she looked with longing. He knew he needed to take the first step across this dark distance, and hope that her trust in him was light enough to show her the way.

Finally one evening as he had bid her goodnight at her bedroom door, as they had done every night since being reunited. With her fingertips ghosting over his cheek, he leaned towards her every so slowly. At first she was trepidatious, her brow furrowing. Her eyes met his and she saw that this wasn’t a dark passion.  It was this tenderness that she was just coming to know and understand. It was she who stayed still this time, waiting for him to come to her. As his lips pressed to hers, her eyes slid shut. The warmth thrummed through her, a thing of pure joy. It was overwhelming, but not in its darkness, rather in its light. She returned the kiss, putting her arms around his neck to pull him closer to her, feeling his big hands come to rest on her hips so gently. This touch, so reverent, combined with the tenderness of his kiss, broke something in her. The part of her that believed that she was only deserving of the distracted roughness of her past melted, and something between a laugh and a sob came out of her mouth and into his, an exchange of joy. She felt his lips smile against hers and suddenly she was being embraced, pulled to his chest, her face pressed to him, his heartbeat thundering against her ear.

“You wonderful creature.” He murmured into her ear.

____


	2. Chapter 2

It was around this time that Sir Malcolm asked to speak to him. Ethan found himself standing before the impressively large desk in Sir Malcolm’s office with the man himself staring sternly at him from behind it.

“What are your intentions with Vanessa?” He asked with the brevity only a father can ask that question with.

Ethan suddenly felt himself a school boy again and fumbled for an answer. He started and stopped a few times before deciding that honesty was the only way.

“I love her.” He hadn’t said it out loud before then, and even though he had known it for a while within him, the presence of the words spoken were an affirmation so solid that he knew from that moment on his life was bound to hers.

The delight in Sir Malcolm’s expression at this admission was like watching the sun rise. He sat back, his eyes filled with tears and was silent for a long moment.

Sir Malcolm suggested that he take her away from London for a spell, away from the house with its ghosts and creeping memories, to somewhere she had never been before. He told him that they needed to go on adventure together, explore something unknown to the both of them, meaning many things in that statement.

Ethan asked Vanessa that evening if she knew how to ride a horse. When she had replied that of course she did, he shook his head.

“Not that ridiculous side-saddle that all these prudish English folks insist on women riding. I mean actually riding a horse, and not to do jumps or chase foxes. Just riding a horse at a full gallop, feelin’ the wind whipping against you, free as if you were flying.”

He knew this would intrigue her and it did.

“And where do you think we could engage in such an activity, Mr. Chandler?”

He had already had a place, down south by the cliffs. There was a small house that Sir Malcolm owned that was usually leased but was presently empty.

“We’ll find a tall, rather showy stallion and a dark, mysterious mare and take them down there, ride them together through the tall grass and the hidden woods.” His cocksure smile faltered for just a moment as he took a step into that distance again. “Would you be agreeable to that?”

It was that break in his bravado, that momentary uncertainty as he asked for what he obviously so very much wanted that made her feel almost weak. This sweet man, so kind, so loving. Was there anywhere he would ask her to go that she would not follow?

Two days hence they found themselves at said destination. He watched in fascination as the city fell away from her. Like their time together at that small cottage on the moors, he saw the simple, self-sustainable Vanessa come forth. Armour like gowns put aside in favor of comfortable clothes that allowed her to move, to be free. He watched her ride her beautiful mahogany coloured mare, her own dark hair dancing around her as she strove forward, the wind colouring her cheeks, that easy smile in full bloom. This was her as she was meant to be, he thought, unfettered, excited, free. The darkness in her passion was overwhelmed by joy. They rode together that day, her laughter falling around them as easy as rain, teasing his laughter out to dance on the wind around them.

“Shall we race then? First to get to that grove of poplars over there wins?” She smiled that mischievous smile at him and before he could answer spurred her mare on, laughing at his befuddlement.

“Dammit woman!” He jokingly called out, and went after her, the stallion making long strides to catch her. When she reached the trees before him she dismounted and stood waiting for him with a cheeky, self satisfied expression.

He jumped down from his mount, took three large strides towards her and suddenly she was in his arms, his mouth on hers. There was a fluttering of fear in her at the unexpected, quick gesture, but the hands on her were gentle and his lips were sweetly insistent. She took a moment and then yielded to him, relaxing into his embrace and responding to his kisses.

To know that she was able to trust him that much flooded Ethan with happiness. This joy fueled these long kisses, that were sweet and slow, always so slow. It was in this space that just for a moment he felt the beast stir. He stiffened momentarily, until the feeling settled into the need to protect, to keep her from harm. The beast knew its role.

“Ethan?” her voice was tremulous, concerned at his sudden start.

“Yes, darlin’?” The endearment was not the affectation it usually was for him. He said it with full meaning as he reached up to rub his thumb along her sharp cheekbone.

“Are you alright? You look--”

“I love you, you know.” He said it quickly, before he could think about what he was saying. The words sat in the space between them as he watched her take them in. First he could read incredibility, then slowly saw the truth of what he’d said sink into her. He watched her mouth twitch as she struggled to speak of the storm of feelings inside her. He brought his hand up to cup behind her neck and bent his mouth to hers again, to kiss her over and over with infinite tenderness.

She pulled her lips away and pressed her forehead to his. She was unable to respond to what he had just said, the newness of it leaving her reeling. But the safety it implied, to be so loved by your protector, that was what made her bold enough to ask for what she wanted.

“Can we-- Do you think it’s possible--” She struggled but it was unnecessary. He knew.

They began the steps to this new dance, unfamiliar to the both of them. He pressed a kiss to her lips to show her he understood. Then carefully, he moved. Slow, long kisses, her lips captured by his while his hands tangled in the dark mane of hair. Her long, willowy arms, so fragile but so strong in their embrace around him. His body molded itself to hers, pressed together along its length. Her hands trembled slightly as she ran her fingers over the muscles of his arms. His lips pressed hot, short kisses along her angular jaw, over that scant spattering of freckles he felt like only he had ever noticed, those freckles that at night he could make a constellation of in his memory. Her nose pressed against his throat, taking in deep inhalations of his smell, making her feel protected. They clung and kissed and gripped and marked one another, tracing lines that their eyes both knew by heart. Deep in the warmth of these caresses, he put his lips to her ear and asked if she would lay in the grass with him.

She stilled in his arms, not freezing up but startled. He held her, letting the safety of their closeness ease her away from her fear. It was a few heartbeats before he felt her slowly nod against him.

With the greatest of care, like she was a precious object to be touched only with loving hands, he helped her lay down in the grass then him next to her. Their eyes never wavered from one another’s as they moved. They laid there for a while, the sound of the wind in the trees around them, of the sea just beyond, slowly calming worries.

“Might I?” He placed his hand on the tie of the sweater around her waist. His eyes were patient and his tone was reverent. It was as a pilgrim asking to touch a holy icon. This kind of love being directed at her made Vanessa feel something akin to giddiness, and, still scared to speak lest she break the spell, she nodded.

Garments were peeled back from her body, her sweater, her blouse, until her gauzy chemise was all that was left. With a slow hand, Ethan pulled on the thinly ribboned bow that fastened the top. Seeing his big, brown hand perform this delicate task caused a flair of desire to bloom up within her. The pure pleasure of it scared her, being so close to that unbridled desire that had so many times before had brought out her darkness. Yet still there was the warmth of that tenderness, the safety in the connection between them. He pulled the sides of her chemise back and looked upon her naked breasts like a man beholding a benediction.

With a cautious hand he reached out to brush the side of her breast with his fingertips. The softness of it almost crippled him. It was beyond anything he could have imagined. The perfection in that softness made him question whether he and his rough calloused hand deserved to trod upon it. Yet he reached out and touched again, stroking the swell with the backs of his fingers and marveling. He could sense her apprehension but when he looked in her eyes there was no demon looking back. It was her, beautiful, tremendous her, looking at him with so many emotions - fear, affection, desire, trust. He leaned down to press a kiss to the side swell of her breast, and then to the other, feeling her chest shudder under his lips.

“Shh darlin'.” He soothed, holding her firmly next to him, his hands running along her side, stroking her and murmuring to her. “It’s okay, darlin'. You’re safe. It’s me, darlin', it’s me.”

She took a few more shaky breaths, her eyes momentarily shining with unshed tears. He waited, with no indication of any need to hurry, for her to feel safe and calm again. While she tried to slow her breathing, she watched as he fiddled with the delicate ribbon on her chemise. He was regarding it with what could only be described as wonder. Any lingering fear was washed away in that moment and she sighed. He smiled slightly at seeing her relax and pressed a few more kisses to her mouth, her throat and her clavicle. In the midst of this deluge of affection she felt his hand move down her body to draw her skirt up.

“Ethan we can’t--” She started, concern thick in her voice.

“Shh darlin', shh.” His hand came up to cup her face as he looked at her with so much love. “It doesn’t have to be like that. It can be like this. It can happen this way.”

She knew what he meant, that she could be touched in this way and it would still be the loving, gentle, slow caresses that they had shared before. That they could do this within the safety and trust that they had built together. He was asking her in that moment to take a step into that distance towards him. It was her turn to make that last step, to close the space and come into his arms. Her eyes locked with his for a long moment, the she reached down under her skirt, to pull loose her silken knickers, to allow him in.

He touched her in the center of herself, where the desire she so feared was pulsing. So slowly, so gently he ran his fingertips along the seam of her, then between, stroking lightly and without insistence. Her breaths became shuddered not from fear but pleasure. Their eyes remained locked as she felt the desire building in her to an uncertain end. As the pleasure escalated her fear came back. He read it in her eyes and his other hand reached up to her face, stroking her cheek. He murmured nonsense words to her, soothing sounds to pull her focus back to him, encouraging trust in this moment. He watched as she tentatively eased back into these caresses. Each was transfixed by the other’s gaze, at this person looking back at them. Then, with seemingly no warning, she climaxed under his touch, the unexpected wave of pure pleasure experienced without fear and within the trust of that shared gaze.

The wave receded and still she was there. Still herself, still him, their dark selves not brought forth by the moment of pleasure.

____


	3. Chapter 3

They laid there a long while, not speaking out of fear of breaking the spell seemingly cast over them. That place was sacred, they could exist there without fear, content in the safety of the other. It was only when raindrops started to fall that they pulled themselves apart and headed for shelter.

Once back inside, the silence slowly became uneasy. Ethan sensed her tensing, watched as she kept her back to him, avoided all attempts at eye contact. They exchanged only the necessary amount of words while making and eating their dinner. Afterwards she, using the barrier of fastidious politeness, excused herself and went into her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Ethan gave her this distance. He knew she was sorting out her feelings, trying to see if there was any danger after allowing herself this release. He knew that she wasn’t angry at him rather more at herself for this lapse in control. After watching her retreat, he sat down in front of the fire and then he too thought about what had happened and wondered if this was going to be something they could actually pursue. The next step was hers to take.

It was deep into the night and Ethan was still sitting on the couch in front of the fire. He had just started to doze off when he was startled to full wakefulness by shouting. Behind Vanessa’s closed door he could hear her calling out in fear. Heart racing and without thought, he bolted to the door and flung it open to see her thrashing and crying out. He went to her, pushing back the blankets to grasp her by the arms and seeing that her eyes were closed, that she was caught in a nightmare, and not her dark power.

“Vanessa! Vanessa, wake up!” He pleaded as he watched the fear play across her face. He cupped the back of her head so it was still and put his lips close to her ear.

“Wake up, darlin', wake up.” He murmured to her over and over. Once she stopped thrashing, he pulled back to watch her slowly blink her eyes open to look at him in confusion.

“Ethan?” her voice was rough from crying out. He moved to sit next to her on the bed and took her hand into his.

“You’re safe, darlin'. You had a nightmare, but only that. You’re still here with me.” She looked at him warily, knowing the disguises that her dark tormentor wore were often most seductive in their safety. She looked deep into his eyes, gripped the hand that held hers and reached out with her power to look within him, to ensure that this was truly the man before her and not a trick.

Her mind’s eye was suddenly filled with an emotion so strong that she gasped and pulled back instantly. She looked up at him in awe. It had been a rush of love, so tender, so overwhelming, so sweet that the light of it was like a bright flash that went from him to her in that moment. This love he felt for her, she realized, was so fragile yet strong, frightening yet freeing, and in complete synchronicity with his sense of purpose. He was her wolf of God, his presence was preordained. He was made to protect her, and loving her was the most natural emotion to feel in accordance to that. He loved her because he was made to protect her, and he was made to protect her because he loved her. She could do no more than look silently into his eyes as the implications of this washed over her.

“That sounded like it was some dream. Do you want to tell me about it?” He said, breaking her reverie. She took a few deep breaths, gathering herself before she could speak.

“I was out in the moors. I was being chased, no doubt by my own darkness. There was the green light that illuminates the night time there, you remember it. I was searching in that murky distance for something. I could hear the faint calling of something out there but I wasn’t afraid. I knew that it would protect-” She stopped mid-sentence as the meaning dawned on her. “It was you, Ethan. Your voice, telling me to wake up.”

He smiled gently at her, reaching out to run his fingertips along her sharp jaw line. He marveled at how the moonlight filtering in through the window made her skin shine like a pearl, so smooth in its paleness.

Her realization, combined with the gentle touch of his hand on her face, made her heart beat race, from fear, partially, of this new unknown, but also something else. Yet his presence, as it always did, helped dispel the fear slowly. She dropped her gaze shyly.

“Mr. Chandler, would it be terribly improper for me to ask you to lay in bed next to me?” When she glanced up to see his response, she was surprised by the joy in his face.

“It is most definitely improper, Miss Ives. Lucky for you, I’m not a gentleman, so those things don’t particularly matter to me.” He smiled at her with mischief in his eyes and she couldn’t help the bit of a smile that tugged on her mouth in response. Not trusting her own voice at that moment, she moved over in the bed and watched as he laid down next to her, holding open his arms. Without any fear or forethought, she went into his embrace. Laying her head on his chest she could hear his heartbeat strong and sure under her ear, his chest rising and falling in a calming cadence. She felt herself begin to relax, allowed herself to be in the safety of their shared space. It was from within this embrace, in the safety of the dark room and eyes averted that she found the courage to speak the thoughts that had been galloping through her mind all night.

“What we did....what you did... I’ve never had… I mean of course I have… But I’ve never been…” She took a deep breath. “I have never known that it could feel like that. There was such a peace in it, even though it was… even though I reached that climax, it wasn’t through an act of darkness. I didn’t know that I could experience that rush outside of an act of terrible unleashed desire. I remember as a girl reading about gentle love, about the feeling of warmth and peace, but it seemed so foreign to me, surely never any place I would go.”

“Nor desired to go, I’m assuming.” There was no judgement in his tone, only the application of the knowledge that she had given him.

“No, it never seemed like something I would ever want. I know now though that my idea of what it was didn’t allow for the all encompassing feeling of it. I was so… it was so…”

He smiled into the darkness as he listened to his normally eloquent and sometimes sharp tongued Miss Ives struggle to find the words to describe her feelings. He knew that this was difficult for her, to associate love with safety, to know that she was protected and cared for, and that she could experience that love through touch and sex.

Laying his hand over the small one on his chest, he turned and slowly inhaled the scent of her. So pure, so warm, so close, it made the beast inside him stir. But not in a confrontational way. The wolf responded and made him hold her just a little closer. His own voice abandoned him and his senses took over. Her scent mixed with the feel of her body tucked into his, so tiny in his arms. Her small hand under his, the delicate wing like bones of her back under his other hand, the long slim leg laid over his. He moved to stroke that dark, dark hair, so soft and thick, stroking it over and over, pulling it to lay over her shoulders so he could watch the moonlight catch in it, creating ripples of shine in the darkness. She burrowed into him more, turning her face into his chest, breathing in. The wolf was content yet he could still feel its need unmet. That was his own danger to be wary of, he too must be careful with himself.

“It can be like that. You can feel an intense emotion like that and not have it come from a darkness but rather a light. This kind of affection is what you deserve. After the things that life has put you through, you deserve to be treated with tenderness, Vanessa. You have goodness within you, and you should have all the kindness and care that you need.”

She blinked back tears at his words.

“And you would be the one to show me that tenderness?” She whispered it, her mouth pressed to his throat.

“If you allow me, I will treat you like the precious thing you are.”

She couldn’t speak at this. A lump seemed to form in her throat, keeping her from responding. The tears began to loosen themselves from her lashes, landing on his skin. Feeling this wetness, he pulled back to see the glimmer of them in her eyes, the trembling uncertainty of her face. He knew she couldn’t yet completely trust him, though she wanted to. But that sliver of possibility, of want, was there and that was more than enough for him in that moment. He pulled her to him, pressed his mouth to hers and kissed her ever so softly. He kissed her again, and again, and again, felt her melt into him. Then her hands moved up his chest to push her upper body above his. Her curtain of hair fell around them, blocking out the world so it was just her and him. She locked eyes with him in this shadowed space.

“How you touched me before… will you do it again?”

____


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the views, kudos and comments. The response has been so encouraging. :)

They stayed at the cottage for another week, the air between them changed. There was an emotional bridge built now, one they could cross to the other ever so carefully. There was the forming of a physical intimacy expressed as affection that was so new and exhilarating that it would make both of them feel overwhelming moments of elation. That permission to touch her enthralled Ethan. He would still approach with caution, but the touch was always warmly met. The only thing that matched the high he felt from being able to touch her was watching her respond to those touches. The smile that would blossom on her face when he would wrap his arm around her waist while they walked, take her hand, brush away an eyelash that lay on her cheek, press a kiss to her lips. Her cheeks stained with a blush and her gaze danced about under the knowingness of his. Was this what it was like to be in love, she wondered. Was she in love with him? What of the force of his emotions, what of that love that had broken through him to her like the sun rising at dawn. This foreign land was full of things she did not understand, but always there was Ethan, to distill all of these emotions down to one pure intent, something she did not yet have a name for.

After that first night, however, Vanessa’s fear became too great. She wasn’t able to trust herself with allowing him to touch as intimately as he had. So there was a progression of physical and emotional closeness in these first weeks.

Initially they would lay in bed, talking late. She would slip off to sleep with his voice in her ear, telling her about the desert, about the wolves howling at a moon so bright it seemed like night turned to day. She slipped into his dreams sometimes, see the darkness, see the cruelty inflicted on him. There was the scared soldier, still a child, watching a man die in front of him from the most horrific wounds. She felt his fear and his hurt, and from this, his need to protect. She saw the lost causes he had devoted himself to, over and over, hoping that one time he might be able to save them. And she saw herself as he saw her. Glowing, like a goddess, his icon found. She would wake up with tears streaming down her cheeks, her heart so full.

In the shelter of the darkened bedroom and their embrace, she told him about how she had come to her knowledge of sex. Watching her mother and Sir Malcolm and associating that with pleasure, this sinful act. She admitted to him how she had betrayed Mina, the cruelest act she had ever committed, an act that destroyed lives, leading to the death of her mother. She believed that this was what sex was, a forbidden, destructive act, cruel and sinful, where all of the darkness within her manifested.

He held her close and passed no judgement on her for her behavior. He reminded her that, though he had committed that act of betrayal against his family, Sir Malcolm still tried to be a moral man. He reminded her that even though people may commit dark acts, that didn’t bar them from doing things with pure intent. When he told her that not all passion had to be dark, not all sexual pleasure made sinful, she knew what he meant, understood it, because she’d experienced it with him.

Then they were silent at night. They laid in the peace of the other’s presence and listened only to the other’s breathing, the wind outside, the ocean waves in the distance. He pulled her dark hair over himself, drawing its dark mass across his chest as he waited. Eventually, she was the one who came to him.

It was her who moved to rest on her elbows above him and place a hand tentatively on his cheek. He was very still in this moment, letting her set the pace, letting her do what she wanted. She kissed him gently, tentatively at first and then became bold, pulling in his lip, sweeping it with her tongue. When he responded in kind she was weakened by the wave of desire she felt and pulled back in fear. Still so close that they shared a breath, she stopped and gathered herself, recognized the desire in her and trusting him to be careful with it. She kissed him again, slowly, and with all of her courage, moved his hand from her waist up to her breast. He drew in a sharp breath, his eyes searching her face. She said nothing, rather let the desire, that pull inside her, that warmth she felt show in her eyes and as if he too possessed her gift he knew exactly what she was feeling.

It was from this place that he was allowed to touch her again. He rolled them gently until she was laying on her back and he was next to her. His hands ghosting over her curves, feeling the warmth of her skin under the thinness of her nightgown. He watched her respond to his touch, the flush on her face and chest, her nipples pressing against the fabric making his mouth water. He slowly pulled her nightgown up her legs and found her, wet and warm. He stroked gently, over and over, as he had stroked her hair, her cheek, her curves and watched as the pleasure bloomed and broke over her.

 

____

 

The night before they were to return to London, he watched as the anxiousness of being back in that place caused her to tense, watched her guard start to erect itself again. Her brow was furrowed most of the day, and she was distracted and short with him in her answers to his questions. He was able to bring her back to him momentarily with a caress, a kiss, but she always fell back again into worry, into the fear. Sitting with him on the couch that evening, she absently listened to him talk as he looked down at her hand resting in his.

“Maybe when we get back you can show me London. You know I’ve never really seen the good parts, witches castles and monster’s lairs not included, of course. Might even be able to convince me to put on my nicest coat and take you somewhere fancy like. See if I can behave myself. That is, of course, if you are amendable to being seen with a rough, uncouth American.”

She jumped to her feet and walked to the fireplace. She kept her back to him with one hand braced against her forehead and the other gripping her waist, her whole posture tense.

“This can’t exist there. It won’t.” She spat out. “The noise and the memories and the demands, they will steal this from us. How can we trust the other when we have seen what we are both capable of in those very rooms? This is just a silly dream, and you must desist on thinking it real. I know I have.”

Worked up as she was, she was completely immune to any platitudes or assurances. Her fears were dancing around her head, convincing her of things not true. He needed to speak louder than them so she would listen.

“Come here.” His tone, so firm and commanding, caught her attention. She turned to see his set face. There was no room for argument in his expression. She was unable to do anything but go to him. Once she stood in front of him, he sat forward and wrapped his hand around her wrist, and not roughly, but not gently, pulled her to sit down in one motion, ending up where he wanted her, on his lap. Outrage with being so commanded battled with the fear in her head and she glowered up at him from under her furrowed dark brow.

“Don’t you be giving me those eyes. What you’re saying is wrong. What I feel for you isn’t geographically bound. There ain’t nothing in London that’s going to stop me from taking care of you. Or have I not sufficiently proven to you yet my devotion to keeping you safe in the confines of that house?” Her eyes darted away, her mouth set in what only could be described as a pout. “You think you know everything, that you see everything. Not when you’re purposely blinding yourself with your fears. Look at me, little girl.”

She ventured to lock eyes with him. There was no playfulness, no lightness. His expression was strict. This firmness mixed with the steely resolve of his words, and the slight rough handling of being pulled down onto his lap had awoken something in her. Again it was foreign to her, though something she had felt around him before. He had challenged her and instead of getting her back up, making her move to the defense, she submitted. He had the power, she’d given it over to him seemingly instinctively. Chastised, she dropped her eyes, and head down, tucked herself into his shoulder, hooked her little feet on his calf and laid her hands in her lap in front of him, palms up.

The wolf in him growled deep at this submission. He reached his arm around her back and gathered her unfathomably slim wrists into one hand, holding them firmly and pulling them up to pin them to her chest. With his other hand he reached to tip her chin up and kissed her, harder than before. He was in complete control, she was captive within his touch. Instead of her fears making her struggle, she felt a sense of total safety. He was the one with the power and she felt lighter in the freedom of not having to be in control.

His kisses were aggressive yet still loving. His hand was firm where it had ghosted touches before. He gripped her small waist, ran his hand down the line of her hip and thigh. He could feel the rise and fall of her chest becoming rapid under the hand that held her hands captive. He moved to kiss her jawline, and when she turned her head to expose her throat to him, a growl of satisfaction, half human and half beast, rumbled very low in his chest. He pushed her nightgown up and, finding her wet and ready, pressed a single finger into her warmth.

She gasped at this invasion, but still she did not move. They stayed locked like this for a moment, two moments. Then he felt her hips press forward ever so slightly, then again, until she was moving against his finger.

Here his human side won out. His need to protect her was strong, perhaps even in sync with the beast’s desires. He gently kissed her long neck. She whimpered slightly, and he bent the finger in her to rub the pad of his fingertip inside her. Then with another finger he pressed in, curling both inside her.

This was not the gentle stroking of before. He was pressing rhythmically into her with a purpose, and she was responding. Still with her wrists bound by his hand, she shifted so she sat with her back more against his chest, her mouth pressed the side of strong jaw. Her whimpers, her excited breaths so close to his ear, stirred the desire in him. He had to be careful, he had to make sure that she was safe, from herself and from him. He knew what the wolf wanted to do to her, knew how the wolf wanted to take her. He couldn’t allow them to tread upon that dangerous ground. Not yet, at least.

With a strangled cry, she felt herself spasming around his fingers. Her hips undulated as she gasped for breath, her open mouth pressed to his neck. The hand on her wrists pulled her upper body to him, and settled her back into his lap as before. As she gradually came back to herself, he gently took her hands in his and raised them to his mouth to kiss the soft skin of each inner wrist, reddened by his grasp. Only then did their eyes find one another, and in his, just for a moment, she saw the flicker of his beast regarding her. She did not fear it. She knew its intent. She knew what she was to it. She curled up in his lap and felt the safety of being in the arms of her protector, her lupus dei.

____

 


	5. Chapter 5

Their courtship continued once they returned to Sir Malcolm’s in London. Ethan watched as Vanessa turned back into the sophisticated city dweller, her manners proper, her clothing fine. Yet when her eyes would meet his, that intimacy was still there. She would smile sweetly at him and he couldn’t help but grin back.

They had to extremely careful. They both intimately knew what the thing in her and the thing in him were capable of. So far, their love making had been exactly that, careful touches that made physical the gentleness within each of them for the other. Ethan, for all his brute strength, was capable of such delicacy, could bestow the most tender of gestures. His large hands wrote out his love and his promise to protect, wrote it like words in a caress of her cheek, the cupping of her head, the light touch on her back.

This tenderness, it was a part of their bond. The way he touched her was unlike any other touch she had ever known. She was beatific to him. His eyes would shine when he would look at her and she would see such joy in those depths, like she had never seen in the eyes of another looking upon her. He brought out a joy in her as well, something she thought to be long dead, murdered by her darkness.

She recognized and admired his control of the beast. At this point all of the sexual intimacy had been for her pleasure. She had yet to lay hand on his bare skin beyond his face and hands. That last time, by the sea, though, as she had writhed in his lap, as she neared her climax, she had felt his need, hard and present, against her. He wasn’t insistent with it, in fact she was sure that he was so focused on her he didn’t realize that it was so prominent. This sensation, his need pressing into her, the length of it, the hardness of it, it stayed in her mind. She knew that he was as scared as she was about loss of control. Could she show him the gentleness that he had shown her? She had seen the beast looking out at her. She did not feel threatened by it. It depended more on him being able to look past his own fear and recognize his desires.

____

Now that they were in the city, they had to go back to proper courting, at least for appearance’s sake. There was no shared bed now, no deep kisses and open embraces by the fire. This restraint, in light of the freedom that they had just experienced, made the lack of contact more pronounced. What closeness they did have now was thick with tension, of anticipation. While sitting next to him in the parlour she gave him that mischievous smile when she caught him gazing at her. When they were out together, he discreetly put his hand on the small of her back. The brush of her lips against his cheek when she bid him good night, her hand in his while he guided her out of the carriage, his fingertips ghosting across her neck as he helped her with her coat. The air around them was charged.

Ethan knew that he needed to make a proper courting gesture. He knew that he needed to show Sir Malcolm that he was in fact a gentleman worthy of Vanessa. Sir Malcolm knew that in terms of his courage and loyalty, but Ethan wanted to show him that he had been raised right, that he was respectful of the importance of the look of things here. More than this though, he wanted to do it for her. He wanted her to see him making the effort, sharing in what was important to her. He wanted to offer her and himself a glimpse at something that seemed impossible before, but was slowly rising on the horizon. The idea that they could have a future together.

So he began to ask for the privilege of escorting her on little excursions. He thought of places he wanted to take her, places that would excite her curiosity, her need to see beautiful and rare things. He took her to the penny arcade, to see the mechanical creatures dance in front of them. They walked along the Thames, the gaslight golden on their faces, playing a game where they each decided where the people passing them were going. They went to the moving picture show, and while the other women in the audience shrieked with fear when the black and white train came rushing towards them, Vanessa smiled with delight, leaning closer.

Seeing lovers rowing along the river at a leisurely pace on a Spring day, he asked if she would like to try going out on the water with him. She answered with an amused laugh.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Chandler, the idea of you rowing me along the river like one of these ridiculous dandies, it’s simply too much.”

“Well now we have to do it.” His eyes twinkled at her as he bowed and offered his hand.

Once on the water, he took off his coat, rolled up his sleeves and heartily sailed them past all the limpid eyed lovers. As they went by the scandalized couples watched this rather brutish man grinning ridiculously at the beautiful, laughing lady across from him, and felt as if their own romantic endeavors lacked spark.

When they went to the Tate, he whispered ribald comments into her ear as they stared at the large canvases parading the rich and noble in the most stoic of scenes, causing her to try in vain to not laugh aloud. When he remarked that he was certain he had known a man in California who looked exactly like the portrait of Napoleon, only he was taller of course, she was unable to smother her laugh and it rang out across the open space. The serious scholars of the arts looked at them in annoyance, but he was already taking her by the arm and ushering her to the next room.

At the British Museum though, when they had entered the halls of Greek sculpture, he grew silent and contemplative. He looked intently at the ancient icons, the carved embodiment of the goddesses who had been worshiped for centuries. In the delicate turn of the head, the graceful gesture of the hand, the blessed expressions on these time worn faces, he saw her. He saw his own goddess, with her brevity and divinity. He turned to the lady herself where she stood looking at him, amused by his silence.

“Rethinking your religion, perhaps, Mr. Chandler?”

“No, Miss Ives.” He took her hand in his and smiled gently at her. “I believe I’ve found what I was meant to worship.”

She read the subtext in this statement and her cheeks stained red. Her smile faltered slightly at this open adoration. She found herself unable to respond, and ducked her head to his shoulder. His arm came up around her and he kissed the top of her dark head as discreetly as he could.

It wasn’t until they were walking through Hyde Park one afternoon that Ethan realized what needed to happen next. The etiquette of Vanessa’s world was so complex. He had been asking Sir Malcolm for help as he had moved through these situations, ensuring that he didn’t make too big of a misstep. During this part of their courtship, he hadn’t felt prepared enough to try something grand. Walking through Hyde Park that day, in the midst of conversation with Vanessa, he began to notice the others around them. The ladies as well as the gentlemen looked at them in barely hidden envy, their eyes glancing over both of them, taking in the sight of this tall, tanned man with the slight, pale brunette, him walking in pace with her, sharing amusing asides and stealing glances at each other. In this he found his reason for wanting to take Vanessa out for a grand evening. He wanted to show lofty London society, with their style and wealth, that he, this calloused, lumbering American cowboy, had been allowed to escort this astoundingly beautiful woman.

After consulting with Sir Malcolm, Ethan had approached Vanessa as she sat writing letters in her salon.

“Miss Ives?” He asked gently. Sensing the seriousness of his tone, Vanessa's greeting smile faded.

“Yes, Mr. Chandler?”

“I was wondering if you would do me the honour of accompanying me to the opera next Saturday evening.” 

“Oh,” was all she could manage at first. She dropped her eyes back to the desk, put the lid on her pen and placed it next to her letter. She was unable to answer.

He knew what this would mean to her, and for them as a pair. Sir Malcolm had explained how being seen out together at such an event would be announcing that they were together, formally courting. He wanted to ask this of her as a way of not only seeing where her mind had taken the idea of the two of them together, but to show what he wanted for them both. The handful of moments while he waited for her response seemed like eons to Ethan. When her blue eyes, full of emotion, finally lifted to his, he felt like he was watching his future slowly unfold.

“Yes, Mr. Chandler. I would be obliged to that.” Her answer was as formal as his request had been, but her eyes, happy and a little scared, told him the truth.

____

 


	6. Chapter 6

The next week and a half were full of little secrets. She would leave in the morning and come home at night, hands full of brown paper wrapped parcels of varying sizes. They were taken immediately up to her room as he watched and wondered from the parlour. In the evenings when he bid her good night, she opened her bedroom door and he looked quickly, trying to see something of the mysteries. But the door was closed before he could see anything but a flash of brightness gleaming from some unknown source.

The morning of the day arrived, and with it, two coolly polite ladies at Sir Malcolm’s front door. They were both stylishly dressed with their hair perfectly arranged, and asked to be seen to Miss Ives’ room, as they had been engaged by the lady to help her prepare for the evening. Ethan watched as the handmaidens moved with purpose to Vanessa’s door and were admitted to this chamber, now full of seemingly magical doings. Later in the afternoon the bell rung again and a long white box was delivered. He took it to Vanessa’s room but was interceded at her bedroom door by Sir Malcolm.

“Now, now, my boy, that’s my contribution to this evening for me to give to Vanessa myself.” He took the box from him and Ethan would swear later that the serious older gentleman winked at him. “You can’t see her before hand you know, it’s bad luck.”

Even though it was said in jest, the seriousness of their evening was not lost on Ethan. This was their betrothal, to go out as a match and be seen as such in the eyes of society. He felt his nerves begin to rattle slightly at the importance, hoping that he would not embarrass her, that she would come home afterwards having been proud to be seen on his arm.

As the time to leave approached, he went to go get ready himself. He was glad that his long hair had been clipped and now lay freshly barbered and brushed, giving him a polish he didn’t always have. The suit he put on had been made for him just that week. He had gone with Sir Malcolm to Savile Row, been measured and fitted for the beautifully tailored black evening coat, shirt and pants, the men working at the impressively posh store tisking and almost dubiously taking in his broad, tall dimensions. He had all the required accouterments, from the silk brocade tie at his neck and the beaver fur black top hat. The cuff links had been given to him by Sir Malcolm himself, a family heirloom that had gone to Africa and back.

“To help guide you on your journey into the unknown.” The older man had said as he had handed them to Ethan.

Fully dressed and ready, Ethan stood waiting at the bottom of the grand staircase, nervously fiddling with the gloves and hat he held. Perhaps this had been a mistake. He wasn’t suited to take a lady, a proper British lady, to something as grand as the opera. He had known nothing of the like in his life, not the lady, nor the people, nor the place.

It was this rather unsure Ethan that Vanessa saw as she began to walk down the stairs. So distracted by his own anxiousness, he didn’t notice her until she was on the landing in the middle of the staircase, looking down at him with great amusement.

“Penny for your thoughts, Mr. Chandler.” She jested, and he turned to look up at her.

The sight that greeted his eyes was so incandescent it seemed for a moment to blind him. He took in a sharp breath as words completely abandoned him. It was glimpsing something seemingly impossible in its exquisiteness.

She was dressed all in white, creamy white silk wrapping its way around her feminine curves as diaphanous as the gowns on the ancient sculptures they had seen. There was no embellishments, no bustle, no gatherings, just the silk embracing her body to flair out at the bottom and trail out behind her. Her shoulders were swathed in a wrap of tulle that seemed to float about her. The ivory swell of breast emerged from the low neckline of the dress.  Her slim arms were adorned by the tulle, but she wore no gloves, her hands bare as always. She wore a multi tiered necklace, collar like in its height and tightness around her neck. It was made of pearls with a drop diamond laying in the hollow of her throat. Her hair was pulled up into a high, loose chignon and decorated with a two perfectly placed white orchids. Her dark straight brows, her upturned nose, her lofty chin and long neck were all accented by the tulle and the necklace and the fullness of raven hair around her face. Yet it was her eyes that held the most beauty. Full of more happiness than they had ever been, it was her eyes that he would remember most, and the idea that he had any part in this happiness.

“Will I do?” she asked, her smile growing as she saw him completely awed at the sight of her. The absurdity of the statement baffled Ethan, who was almost beyond comprehension.

“Forever.” He breathed out the word, whether in answer to her question or as a promise or both. She felt her heart quicken at it and her hands began to tremble as the feelings inside of her swelled. She opened her mouth to reply when Sir Malcolm stepped into the foyer to stand next to Ethan.

“Vanessa, you look so beautiful. The orchids are just as perfect as I knew they would be on you.” He stepped up the stairs and offered his arm to her, guiding her down the last steps towards Ethan. This procession was followed by the older man taking her delicate hand and placing it in Ethan’s. He smiled his blessing at both of them, his eyes sparkling.

“Go now, children, and see what awaits you.”

 ____

 The opera had been beyond anything in Ethan’s experience. He tried to not gape too openly at the magnificence of the theater, the gold flourishes, the painted mosaics, the heavy red velvet drapery. The audience itself was bejeweled and coiffed and draped in the most lush and decadent of finery, diamonds as big as his thumb, intricately decorated dresses, flowers of every kind. Fans fluttered and jewels twinkled in the darkness, and Ethan watched as eyes took in the sight of him and the lady on his arm. Sitting in the box seats, they were as conspicuous as he was sure Sir Malcolm had wanted them to be when he selected those seats. Ethan had found his composure and his confidence in the happiness he had seen in Vanessa’s face and was able then, with a great amount of pride, had led her to their perch in front of all of those eyes, letting them see this creature that he loved for all her intriguing uniqueness. He knew that in comparison to the dresses of the women there that Vanessa’s was risque, showing her shape with the amount of bare skin exposed, but with dignity and unshakable confidence, she glided in front of them, making the women in the audience’s initial response of scandalous outrage quickly turn into questioning the over embellished prudence of their own gowns before they could utter a word against her. There was one man in that opera house that night who looked up at this seemingly angelic woman, the alabaster brow, lofty profile, forward thrust bosom and long thin lines, and began to dream up the vision of a girl, who he would later draw and share, a girl who would become the ideal for decades.

During a quiet, pensive scene, when all singing and music had momentarily stopped, Ethan leaned over to whisper in her ear, and the lightness of her laughter danced its way into the open theatre for just a moment. All eyes, even those of the actors on stage, turned to look up at the box seats where Ethan and Vanessa, so absorbed in one another, exchanged hushed secretive words, unaware of the attention. Vanessa could have had no more perfect accompaniment than the man who sat next to her. The sight of this slight ethereal beauty clad in shining pure white in comparison to the burly, handsome man in his perfectly tailored black suit was like seeing a pearl resting in a nest of black velvet, so curved around her paleness was he. His attentiveness, his tender gestures, his eyes always seeming to return to her, taking her in, it was like its own tale being told whose intrigue and mystery that rivaled the story on the stage.

____

 


	7. Chapter 7

Ethan wouldn’t be able to recall what the opera was that they had seen that night but he would be able to list all of the times he made Vanessa laugh. On the way home, she attempted to explain to him what had happened, but he insisted it had been about the one rather large man demanding that the prima donna pay him back the two dollars she owed him. Vanessa laughed at his insistence the entire ride home.

Once they got back inside the mood changed. In this moment neither of them seemed to know how to proceed. The house was dark and silent, and after shedding their coats, he escorted her to her bedroom door as he had every night prior. They stood facing each other there, the gaslight low, the silence pressing in and for a moment said nothing.

“I hope I proved to be a worthy escort this evening, Miss Ives.” Ethan reached out for her hand.

“You were more than I could have ever hoped for, Mr. Chandler.” She said it softly.

That night something had finally revealed itself to Vanessa. Being lead by Sir Malcolm down the stairs to Ethan, seeing his face so full of hope and joy, seeing how it matched the hope and joy inside herself, she knew that this was where she was meant to be. This man was her match in every way and she loved him with a purity and completeness she’d never dreamed possible. Made pure by his love, she could give her own to him without fear or hesitation. Sitting in front of society with him beside her, she saw herself as something she never thought she would be, a bride on the brink of heaven. Tremulous in this uncharted territory, Vanessa didn’t know how to proceed. She looked at the man standing before her and decided that he must have his desires met, that they must pursue the desires that they both had together.

“Might you be able to assist me with my dress? I’m afraid the ladies who fastened me into it are gone now and I don’t believe it would quite comfortable for sleeping in.” She said this with her most mischievous smile, and Ethan couldn’t help but grin back.

“Of course, Miss Ives.”

They went into her room where the fire, the only light in the room, burned low. She lead him to stand in front of its low warmth then turned her back to him.

“I’m not exactly sure how to solve the riddle of this dress, but I think you might be worthy of the challenge.” She said over her shoulder, not daring to face him in this moment of risk.

As always, he moved slowly, raising hands to run along her back and sides until he found the tiny seam fastening the dress together. With a deftness seemingly beyond his calloused hands he released the white satin. She pulled the tulle from around her, and in a moment of dizzying reality, the dress fell from her body to puddle like starlight at her feet. As she went to turn towards him, she felt his light touch in her hair, pulling the orchids free and setting them on the mantelpiece. He later pressed them between the pages of book with the intent that one day they would lay in his hands when he left this world for good.

She then reached up to unpin her hair and Ethan watched with breath bated as the dark mass fell around her long neck.  The full weight of it fell down to the middle of her back and laid over her shoulders. It was then that she turned to face him.

Her overbust corset was made of opaline silk, its severe restrictive embrace bringing in her already tiny waist to a seemingly unreal smallness. Ethan’s hands, on their own accord, reached out to encircle it and found his fingers almost touching on either side. What was this creature before him, so delicate and shining. The diamond in the hollow of her throat gleamed in the warm firelight.

He watched as she reached up to push the dark coat off his shoulders, removing it and placing it over the chair by the fire. Still unable to speak, his eyes followed her small hands as she deftly untied his tie and pulled it off, then began to unbutton his shirt, exposing the strong, broad chest underneath. She had it open, untucked and almost all the way down his arms before he realized her intent.

“Vanessa.” He reached up to stop her but she held firm.

“Ethan, I admire your control, and know that it has been necessary, not just for me but for yourself as well. But I am asking you to place the same trust in me and my own abilities now. You have your own needs, and I want to fulfill them. I want to bring you to this place that you have taken me.” She waited and watched the argument he was having within himself play out in his eyes. Finally, she felt his hands on hers fall away, and with a slight tremor of her own desire, she took his shirt off him and laid it atop his jacket.

She stepped back then to stand at a distance before him. As if they were waiting for a dance to begin, they stood across from each other, still with anticipation, waiting for the signal to start. Suddenly coming to awareness, the first thing he could think to do was step out of his shoes, and much to her amusement, work off his socks with his toes.

“What?” He asked as she hid her grin behind her hands.

“I don’t think I’ve ever dreamt it possible for one to remove socks in such a fashion.” She laughed.  With that, the tension in the room broke.

“I’m going to show you lots of things done in ways you’ve never dreamed possible, darlin'.” He grinned through the innuendo and she laughed again, this time with her cheeks slightly reddening.

He reached out his hand as the dance began. They were dancers with impediments, broken and newly healed, so they had to be careful with each other. She took his hand and placed it on her waist. Keeping his eyes locked with hers, he pulled loose the tie that was holding up her silk knickers and much as the dress before them, they fell away from her like a whisper. The tops of her intricately patterned white stockings were revealed, held in place by garters of blue ribbon. Between the ribbon on the garters and the ribbon on the bottom of the corset there was nothing but bared flesh. Seeing the fullness of her hips and thighs and the dark triangle nestled there in, Ethan inhaled sharply. Again without conscious thought his hand reached out to gently place itself on her bare hip. It was impossibly pale and unimaginably soft. The scent of her desire slowly filled his heightened senses and he felt the beast surge. His eyes flickered to hers in a moment of fear of this rush, but he saw her calm and in control. She was calling him to her with her openness and trust, and in that place he acted.

Then, quickly, as he had in that tiny cabin on the moors, he picked her up and with an upward movement, held her to him, her feet still in her dainty high heeled slippers dangling off the ground as they were so matched in height. He pressed his mouth to hers and they kissed with all the pent up passion they had from the weeks of restraint and want. Together in these kisses they skirted along side the uncontrolled passion that could topple them over into darkness, pulling back before being eclipsed them then going back for more.

He carried her over to the bed and sat her on the edge, kneeling in front of her. She took his face into her hands and kissed him again and again, slowly this time, her fingers tracing his features and then her lips following. She felt his hands on either side of her hips, he held her firmly, cupping her and pulling her to him. Without realizing it, she undulated slightly under his touch, pressing her center against the bare flesh on his stomach. She heard and felt the growl that came from deep in his chest at this.

“Lay down on the bed.” she said in a whispered command. Acquiescing he did so and then watched her stand up beside the bed. She reached down and loosened his pants, pulling them and his underwear down and off at once, leaving him naked before her. Her eyes roamed this newly revealed expanse, the play of muscles and brushing of hair over his chest, the strong tendons of his arms and shoulders tense and corded with control. He was hard, erect, in anticipation of her. A deep thrill moved through her at seeing him like this, seeing his want for her. Where before this knowledge that a man desired her sexually had been her downfall here it was different. Ethan wasn’t just interested in her body. And this wasn’t an act born from a need to do something sinful, wrong. This was her strong, beautiful protector, looking at her with all his need, all his love, and it was her choice whether to proceed or not. This was something, she realized, that she not only wanted to give to him, but needed to give to herself. She needed to know what it felt like to love through pleasure.

Moving with the utmost care, she straddled him and then she reached out to grasp his hard aroused length at his base. He responded to these movements with a strangled moan, but still kept his hands on the bed, not daring to take the control away from her. She placed him at her entrance and took him into her.

The feeling of him coming into her, taking in the size of him, was a long, drawn out moment of absolute pleasure. Her breath was shaky with desire as she felt like she was almost holding herself too close to the flame. When she had finally taken him all the way in, she was still, adjusting to the invasion. She looked down at Ethan then, and saw the man and not the beast looking back. Time seemed to stop in this moment. They both looked at the other incredulously, the reality of this intimacy landing on both of them. Ethan had wanted this for so long, dreamt of it, desired it down to the deepest part of him, but nothing could have prepared him for this, being inside her, feeling her warmth enveloping him. She reached out a hand then to stroke his face and to smile beatifically at him, her heart full to bursting. Their gazes so locked, she began to move.

She gathered his hands above his head, leaning forward to hold them in place there with her own. She met his eyes then, and saw the beast flickering, looking back at her. Even though he could easily overpower her and break loose of this hold, she knew the control she had over him in this moment would keep the beast from trying to. She undulated her hips in an excruciatingly slow pace, moving up and down his hard length. She could feel herself becoming slick around him as she began to move faster. Soon she was moving rapidly on top of him, her breasts beginning to press hard against the restrictive embrace of her corset as she struggled to take deeper breaths. The shallow rapid breathing, the plumped pressed shape of her breasts so close to him and the exquisite feel of her around him became too much for Ethan. He looked to her for the permission to take over and, she, with eyes filled with her desire, gave it.

He put his hands on her hips and began to move them on his own accord, as he wanted them, pulling them to his again and again as he thrust into her with more rapidness and roughness than before. She angled backwards, back still ramrod straight with the corset. Watching her struggle to breath within it, he stopped to reach up and with the combined strength of him and his beast, tore open the fastenings down the front of it and pulled it from her, tossing it to the floor. She was then fully revealed to him, a flush upon her chest, breasts full, blush pink nipples hardened with arousal. He reached up and grasped one of her full, pale breasts, cupping it in his large palm. Very lightly he moved his thumb over the stiff nipple, causing her to shudder on top of him. He moved his hands back to her tiny waist, not wanting to overwhelm her with too many sensations.

With this freedom to move and breathe deeply, she leaned forward, resting her hands on his chest. They were still for this moment, unsure of the next step of the dance. Their eyes met and he saw the flash of fear, just for a second. He knew she was scared of the release, of its intensity. He sat forward then, pulling her face to his to kiss her once, twice, three times. He pressed his forehead to hers and closed his eyes, as she did hers. He moved again, thrusting himself into her deeper this time and felt her begin to spasm around her. Her breathy cries fell around him, and he held himself in complete control, though his impending climax was painfully nipping at him. Only when he felt her come back to herself did he pull her down onto him, once, twice, three times. He felt himself come deep within her. It was agonizing, feeling her around him, pushing into her soft, tight wetness, beyond any experience he had ever had. The beast roared within him, but he pushed forward to feel this as the man, to look up and see this beautiful woman above him, the sweat on her brow dampening her dark curls, her eyes open and full of emotion as she looked at him. She pushed him down on the bed and leaned forward, with him still inside her. The curtain of her hair fell around them and she pressed a kiss to his mouth, and pulled back to whisper to him.

“I love you, you know.”

____


	8. Chapter 8

Out of a dark haze, he emerged. He was in an unidentifiable space, with hazy details of which she couldn’t make out. He was sitting, bare chested, holding something with the utmost care against his skin. As she stepped closer, she realized it was a baby, a very tiny, very new baby, curled up on his chest. So small, he was able to hold the sleeping form with one of his big hands, his mouth pressed to the downy head. He murmured softly as the baby slept, a tune she couldn’t make out. A sudden overwhelming swell of emotion reared up inside her and she was crippled by it. It was a love so intense that it almost immediately pulled her to wakefulness.

Vanessa was disoriented for a moment about where she was. She lay next to a sleeping, naked Ethan, all light in the room dimmed, his muscular arm thrown over her, holding her to him. Her face was nestled into his neck, the smell of him all over her.

She didn’t know if this dream had come from her or Ethan or if it was a dream at all. She dared not let herself rest too long on the hope that it was a vision of what was to come, for it was more than she could ever wish for. Hiding from this, she burrowed into him and he unconsciously pulled her closer.

Vanessa realized something at the unfamiliarity of this situation. She had never woken up next to the man she’d just been with. In fact, she wasn’t sure she’d ever even slept next to any of them. This early morning moment, illuminated by the rising sun just breaking in through the blinds, was like its own golden dream. She lazily ran her hand across the soft hair on Ethan’s bare chest and gently outlined scars. He had told her a lot of the stories to go with them, but there was one, a deep thick one, in the middle of his chest, that he never mentioned. She imagined that was the deepest, oldest wound of them all.

“Van,” he murmured in his sleep and her heart caught. He had only just begun calling her by this name, what Peter and Mina would call her when they were all young together. She had told him about this, about what it was like growing up with them, being as close as siblings. She told him about how she always viewed that part of her life, when she was known as Van, the playful, clever little girl with the sharp blue eyes, like it was a dream. It was too innocent to be a part of the person she had become. He smiled at her like he knew something she did not, and asked if it would be alright if he called her that on occasion. She’d smiled shyly and aquiancented, but asked that he not stop calling her darling as well. The grin that had emerged on his face at this request made her feel like that girl again, Van, who everyone delighted in, who was loved. He knew her better than anyone ever had. He’d been the one she’d opened up to the most and told more about her life than she’d even admitted to herself. Him loving her even though he knew all this about her was something she still couldn’t fully believe.

When Ethan woke up he felt her body touching all along the side of his, and he too had a moment where he wasn’t sure if it was a dream. The warmth of her, the scent of her, the feel of her. This was his Vanessa, in the flesh, the glorious nude flesh.

“Hello there, darlin’.” A big slow smile spread across his face as he felt her pull out of the nook of his shoulder, seeing those blue eyes barely shadowed with any troubles at this moment.

“Good morning, Mr. Chandler. I’m afraid we’ve slept straight through.”

“Well I was exhausted after a very physical evening.”

She responded to this with a laugh that, though she would deny it for the rest of their lives, was very much like a snort. The unpolished sincerity of this reaction gave Ethan such delight that he laughed out fully and without restraint.

“Ethan, you mustn't be so loud!” She chastised him with a barely concealed grin.

“I hardly think that Sir Malcolm has any illusions about what’s been happening in here all night. In fact,” he looked behind Vanessa, “it seems there’s a little something waiting.”

She looked over to see a note that had been slipped under the door. He went to sit up but she stopped him with a gentle hand on his chest. Shaking her head and smiling at him, she moved out from under the blankets and to the side of the bed to pull her kimono on. He saw the horridly cruel mark that had been left on the beautiful pale expanse of her back and felt sadness, anger and the need to protect flood him at the same time. Since she had told him the story of how she received the brand and why it had been like a heavy stone weighing on him at all times. Yet knowing in this moment that she trusted him enough to make herself so vulnerable to him, he knew it was a gift that he had been given, one that he would always respect and cherish.

She picked up the note and read out loud “Open the door.”

Doing so, they saw a tray there in the hallway with an urn of coffee and a beautiful strawberry custard torte. Vanessa let out a little exclamation of delight and bent over to pick it up and carry it back to the bed.

“I know this torte, it’s from my very favorite bakery in South London.” She put the tray on the bed as Ethan sat up against the headboard.

“So it’s true, you really do eat dessert for breakfast.” He smiled sadly at her, and she knew this was something that Sembene had told him. Reaching out to hold his hand, she looked at him with all the kindness and love she felt towards him, lifting his hand to kiss the knuckles. Acknowledging but knowing that it wasn’t absolvement.

“I remember when I first told him that I wanted the honey cake from the evening before for breakfast. It was so rare to surprise him, and when I did then, I think that endeared me to him.” She smiled to herself at the memory. “From then on he would make me honey cake every Sunday night so I could have it Monday morning.”

She poured him some coffee, and cut a generous slice in the torte for herself. He watched with growing amusement as she placed it on a china plate with her fingers, and then licked them clean. She took a small silver fork from the tray and began to have her own experience with her decadent breakfast. Looking at the delight and pleasure that danced over her face while she did this, he realized why indulgences like this were important to her. She was able to fulfill a desire without the danger of becoming controlled by it. This was a woman who wanted pleasure, wanted to know what it meant to have your desires explored.

So lost in her dessert, she didn’t notice as the left shoulder of her silken robe start to slowly slip. His eyes traced this tortuously long reveal, feeling himself growing hard at the sight of the low, heavy swell of her breast. When the silk finally revealed her pale pink nipple he could feel a pull on himself ancient in its depth into his subconscious.

It wasn’t until she had finished scraping the plate clean of all the sweet cream and shining red glaze that she felt his eyes on her. The lust there, the desire, shot clean through her down her center, making her spasm a little just from this look. She met it full on, and the mischievous smile flitted across her face.

“You better have some coffee, Mr.Chandler. Who knows how physical today might be.”

“I have a feeling very much is going to be required of me, Miss Ives.”

____


End file.
